


His Weakness

by IAmThePasserby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aquaphobia, Chapter Fic, Childhood Trauma, Conquering Fear, Dead In The Water, Drowning, Fear, Fear of Drowning, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Missing Scenes, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, PTSD, Phobia, Playthings, Pre-Series, Season 1, Season 2, Stanford Era, brady - Freeform, descriptions of drowning, pov switching, teen!chesters, watching other people drown, wee!Dean, wee!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmThePasserby/pseuds/IAmThePasserby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was drowning, and Dean couldn't get to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that looks at a lot of different chapters in the boys' lives: as kids (yay Wee!chesters), as teens (yay Teen!chesters), college for Sam (yay Stanford Era!), and a few hunts (yay Missing Scenes for Seasons 1 and 2).
> 
> Warnings:  
> Extensive description of drowning or watching someone drown.
> 
> Note:  
> I wrote this in high school, a good 7 or so years ago. It's one of my better works, from that time, which is why I'm cross-posting it. Still a bit cheesy, though. Forgive me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-series, teen!chesters, descriptions of witnessing someone drown.

Dean awoke to the sound of flesh hitting flesh. His mind felt like it was stuttering, absorbing what was happening in snippets and jolting steps.

He could hear punches. The odd, centered, slapping sound that knuckles to a body make when they have enough force behind them. Five punches. Then a strange kind of half-yelp, half-gasp. Then a woman's voice.

_Mom?_

Part of his memory sludged into place. Mom was dead, had been for thirteen years. And this wasn't his mother's voice. The woman's voice was harsh, not quite sharp, but still steely sounding, like a blunt sword. But hey, even a blunt sword can kill you.

Dean struggled to open his tired eyes. The left one felt swollen, like he'd been hit. He wondered idly if the person being punched was him.

No, he wasn't even sore, just dizzy. His fingers were a little tingly, though, but that was because of the tight ropes that held his wrists and the rest of him to the chair.

_Why am I tied up?_

He realized that his eyes were open, had been for several seconds. He blinked, hard, and felt his swollen left eye tell him that he had a bruise coming. He deliberately focused on what was happening around him, trying to de-blur his view, and the muted rushing in his ears suddenly fell away, allowing sound to crash into him fully, all at once.

"Maybe you've learned your lesson, but I think we need to make absolutely sure."

"St-stop..."

"Shutup."

Another smack, a gasp and a cough.

"Pleee....ple-hease..."

"You should behave more like your brother is over there."

Another smack, and a crack, this time, with it.

"GAAAAH....aah....hagh..."

Sobs, cruel laughter, and the fading clack of high heels.

"D-dee... _Deeannnn_..."

Dean finally managed to make his vision align, forcing himself to see straight. The room was big; warehouse big, but not well lit. There were people, more than half a dozen, all bearing heavy duty firearms and standing like guards in front of doors or dirty windows, or else standing with the group in the center of the room, next to a huge glass box that looked oddly luminescent. The group of people in the room's center were staggered enough that Dean could see what they were making a sort-of-circle, a broken circle, because there was a tall woman with dark hair walking away from the group, the sound from her heeled shoes echoing, and a large gun hanging by her side. The people in the group were all men; big, thick, piles of muscles save for one, one who looked to be about thirteen, one that was almost as tall as the men were except that he was on his knees, slouched and shaking. He was lanky but muscular, and had a shaggy mop of dark brown hair that was hanging over his face blocking it from Dean's view. He was cradling his ribs, and a thin strand of shiny red fell to the ground from his face.

The rest of Dean's memory slid back into place with a surge of color and imagery, pictures of fire and running and a baby that only stopped crying for him, flashes of monstrous faces and bleeding injuries and A+ papers, memories of Dad leaving just hours ago and glass breaking and being struck unconscious and a voice calling out his name. Dean opened his mouth wide, wanting to shout, wanting to cuss, wanting to do anything but sit there in shocked silence, because that was Sam on the floor surrounded by men with guns, that was Sam sobbing and bleeding, that was Sam saying his name right now.

Dean gritted his teeth, wide awake now and furious, because that was his little brother, and nobody was allowed to hurt him and live.

"SAM!"

Faces turned, and Dean pulled against his bonds, not stopping to think much, just struggling madly.

"Sam! Sammy!" he looked up at the faces of the guards who were breaking up the circle, going to their respective posts and leaving Sam to huddle on the ground, gasping.

"Oh, I spoke too soon."

Dean turned toward the blunted steel voice, and saw the woman entering the room again, smirking at him as she walked. Her high heels click-clacked.

“You bitch. I’ll-“

"Oooh," she seemed amused, "that's not a very nice thing to call a lady, Dean. Besides," she walked over to Sam and grabbed his thick hair, pulling him roughly to his feet and placing the barrel of her gun hard against his throat. Dean wasn't sure what he was yelling at her, wasn't exactly thinking too clearly, but he was yelling something because there was a friggin' gun under his brother's chin. The woman only smirked some more, "you wouldn't want me to get upset and take my feelings out on little Sammy, would you?"

Dean promptly shut up. He stopped struggling, too, but set about inching his hand up the sleeve of his flannel to find the pocket knife he knew he had stashed up near his elbow.

"That's much better," the woman sneered, and Dean glared back, wishing he could flip her off, or shoot her in the face, or at least kick her in the shin really hard, "now I know you probably won't stay as well-mannered for very long, but that doesn't matter very much - we don't plan on keeping you for very long anyway." Dean tried not to look worried at that, but he couldn't keep himself from feeling a cold kind of chill creep up his spine.

The woman dropped Sam, who fell to the floor with a hiss of pain, grimacing and clamping his teeth. Dean gazed hard at Sam, trying to meet his eyes. Sam eventually looked up, breathing heavily, his eyelids at half mast. Dean did his best to communicate silently, and it was easy.

Nobody understood him like Sam.

_Are you okay?_

Sam gave a small nod, then raised an eyebrow slightly. _I'm alright. You?_

Dean tried to grin. _I'm fine._

Sam pursed his lips. _You're always 'fine'._ He very nearly rolled his eyes before wincing as he cradled his ribs with his arm tighter.

Dean bit his lip to stop from swearing. He stared at Sam, setting his face into his most affirming expression. _Don't try anything. I'm going to get free, and then I'll come get you. I'm going to get us out of here, okay? I've gotcha, Sammy._

Sam looked at him, his expression for once, unreadable. Then he nodded once more, before closing his eyes and blowing out what looked like a painful breath of air. _I know you will, Dean._

Dean turned his attention to the woman, who had walked a ways away and started to talk to one of the guards.

It occurred to Dean that he had no idea who these people were, or why they'd decided to kidnap him and Sam. Then again, it didn't make much of a difference - they still needed to get out of here.

His knife was proving difficult to reach.

The woman said something to the guard, and he nodded, grinning, before following her back toward Sam. He nodded at two more guards while he lumbered across the space. They left their posts, following him and the woman. Dean stiffened as they approached Sam, but he didn't say anything; he couldn't help Sam if they caught him trying to get loose. He pulled harder against the ropes on his arms to reach the knife up his sleeve. He’d have rope burns, maybe bruises later, but he thought he could feel the tips of his fingers brushing the handle.

"C'mon Sam," the woman said in a way that was falsely sweet, syrup tainted with arsenic, "time to go for a swim." The men reached for Sam, and Dean didn't care just then that he still couldn't grasp his knife.

"Hey! _Hey!_ " he shouted, but they ignored him, grabbing Sam's arms and pulling him up roughly, half dragging him toward the big glass box, "Get away from him! HEY! Did you hear me? I said leave him alone!"

Sam was struggling and putting up a good fight; he was winning. He kicked one guy in the nuts, and swung a fist at another's stomach. Both men doubled over, one wheezing and the other groaning, but at that moment the woman, who had been standing and watching with a frown, pulled out her gun and clicked off the safety.

Before Dean could get in a breath to say anything, the shot was fired.

Everybody froze, and Dean stopped breathing. Dead, he was sure that Sam was dead, the woman had shot him, _oh my god my brother's dead, no, please, no - wait._

He sucked in air again. Sam was looking worriedly at the woman, panting, but not bleeding. She hadn't shot him. _He's not dead. He's not dead. She didn't shoot him._

She hadn't shot anyone, just fired at the ceiling and then aimed her gun at Dean, which was fine with him. As long as she wasn't pointing the thing at Sam, he could deal with it.

He just needed to move the knife a little further down his arm...

The woman was speaking in her harsh, dull-sword voice.

"This is how it is, _Sammy_ ," she said the name like an insult, and Dean narrowed his eyes at her, knowing that Sam was doing the same, "you be a good boy and do what we say, or Dean will be dead, got it? I only need one of you, and it doesn't matter much to me which it is, so you will be a compliant child or you will be an _only_ child."

The room was tense. The quiet was thick and bad tasting. Sam looked at the woman, then cast a quick glance at Dean. Dean was screaming at him with his eyes, but he could see that Sam was ignoring it. Sam looked back at the woman, then his shoulders slumped in defeat. He lowered his eyes to the ground, and nodded.

Dean cussed as the woman smiled at him, her aim unchanging.

"See, Dean? All it takes is a little persuasion and I'm the winner," she wasn't looking at him, she was watching Sam, but that was probably better, because Dean was fervently trying to wiggle the knife further down his arm.

The men led Sam toward the glass box. If Dean had to guess, he would've said it was six feet tall, a bit over two feet wide on either side. He didn't get what it was for, but the panes were held together by a rusty kind of metal, large bolts along the edges, and the top was hanging on a hinge. Some kind of cage?

There were steps next to it, and a small platform at the top. The guards pushed Sam up the steps, and the movement jarred the box, so that Dean realized that there was something inside of it.

Water. The box - not a box, a _tank_ \- was full of water. They were at the top of the platform now, and Dean started to panic.

"What are you doing," he asked no one in particular, and it came out quiet and hoarse, so it was likely no one heard him anyway. He tried again, "What the _hell_ do you think you're _doing_?!" Dean's eyes found the woman, who was smirking at him again, and it clicked in his brain.

She had said that she only needed one of them. This was all just a game for her; a cruel, sick game.

"No..." Dean croaked, then he turned back to Sam, who was looking confused and wary on the platform next to the top of the tank, "Sam, no! Don't let them - don't do it - don't listen to them - Sam! Sammy!"

"Get in the water, Sam," the woman ordered, her voice hard, "Get in or I pull the trigger."

"Sam, don't. Don't get in, they can't make you-"

"Get in or your brother dies."

"Don't you dare listen to her, Sam, you hear me?! Don't you dare do that-"

"You have three seconds."

"Sammy."

"One."

"Sam, _please_."

"Two."

"Sam, don't listen, DON'T-"

"Thr-"

"SAM!"

Dean's shout covered the splash, but he saw how Sam's face had looked horrified when he'd understood what they would make him do. Sam had looked torn only for a moment, then he'd spent the seconds staring at his brother, apologizing. He’d taken a deep, painful breath before stepping off the platform into the full tank, his weight bringing him quickly to the bottom. Sam's hair was splayed about, gravity suspended, and he looked bigger than he should have in the water, his appearance slightly warped, like being inside of a bubble.

Dean managed to get the knife between two fingers. He pulled, and it came down his sleeve, scratching a line along his arm but falling into his hand.

The guard on the platform started pulling the tank's top down just as Sam's head broke the surface, coming up for air, and the top pushed him back down again with bubbles coming from his mouth.

Dean was shouting, begging him to hold on, and the woman was laughing, actually laughing while one of the guards came up behind her and whispered something in her ear. She made an outraged face, and hissed something back at him that sounded like, “Well stop them, don't let them get in,” and then the guard grabbed all but one of the rest and ran out the door. The woman and one guard who left watching Sam in the glass tank.

Sam was banging against the glass, kicking it hard, and Dean was pleading with god for it to break, _please, please let it break_ , but then the woman caught Sam's gaze and shook her head, making a show of aiming at Dean again, and then putting her finger over the trigger. Sam looked at Dean, then the woman, his hands opening and closing, making fists and then shaking his hands with his fingers fluttering. He looked at Dean again, and this time he didn't look away. Sam's eyes were wild, his hands flitting around trying to think of some escape but not able - no, not _allowed_ \- to find any.

Sam was drowning, and Dean couldn't get to him.

Dean was through the rope on his left wrist and halfway through the one around his waist. He was sawing furiously, but it wasn't working fast enough. The ropes were too thick, and Sam was grabbing at his hair with his hands, making a horrible face, his eyes closed. Then, one large bubble left his mouth, and his eyes flew open. His mouth gaped, and Dean could tell he was swallowing water, he was flailing his arms, but he wasn't aiming for anything, he was simply panicking. Dean was through the rope around his waist and trying to cut through the last of the bonds around his other arm, and then Sam stopped flailing and jerked once, twice, like he was being shocked. It was a horrible jolting, convulsing, and then he wasn't moving at all. He was staring but he wasn't moving, just floating there, hanging in the water, gazing at Dean with big, brown, lifeless eyes.

Dean had given up shouting, but he thought he might've started sobbing, because his chest was tight and his eyes were hot, his stomach was twisting. The world was spinning around him, and he cut through the last piece of rope before charging the woman and tackling her like he'd never tackled anyone before. He banged her head hard on the floor, heard a loud cracking sound, and she didn't struggle anymore. He ripped the gun from her hand and shot at the guard who was already running at him. The man fell and didn't get up again.

Dean ran at the glass tank and fired at the corner, the furthest point from where his brother was floating, still, staring, pale. The tank shattered.

Water and glass burst outwards at him and everywhere. Dean knew he was cut but he didn't stop to look, didn't care. He thought he could hear distant guns firing, but it didn't matter what was going on outside the room. He reached for Sam as the tank burst and pulled him close as they were pushed across the floor in the wave of water.

They rolled to a grating stop, and Dean immediately rolled Sam onto his back, checking for anywhere the glass might've stabbed him.

There was no blood that he could see, but Sam wasn't breathing, and he didn't have a pulse.

Dean bent over him and blew into his mouth, coming up and counting out chest compressions before bending down and breathing for Sam again.

"Sammy...Sammy, don't..." Dean could hear himself crying, "Sam...Sam please..." he couldn't see clearly, his vision was blurred, and he felt his hands shaking, and Sam was lying there, cold and wet and not doing anything, and Dean kept trying, kept going, breathing, compressions, _why isn't it working,_ breathe, compressions, _no no no no no,_ begging Sam to wake up, come back, please wake up.

Sam's eyes fluttered, his back arched and he spit out a long spout of water. Dean hurriedly turned him on his side as he heaved, water pouring from his mouth, and then gasped air back into his lungs.

Dean sobbed hard then, he sobbed harder than he could ever remember doing, and Sam gasped and retched and then whimpered in between sucking in harsh breaths. Dean pulled Sam into his arms and sat there, cradling his brother and crying, while Sam's heart got used to beating again, his lungs to the feel of air. Dean sat there and cried until Dad came barreling in through the door with Joshua and Caleb, all three of them looking like they’d been fighting tooth and nail. They all left the warehouse, passing by the guards tied up all over the place, and they headed to the hospital.

They were pulling into the hospital parking lot before Sam managed to say anything.

"D-dee...Dean..."

It took Dean a long time to stop crying. Dad didn't mention it at all. Not ever.

\-----

Sam had nightmares for weeks.

It had been some stupid cult that’d had a bone to pick with Dad for killing their pagan god. They'd wanted to kill Sam and leave him for Dad to find, then lead him on a wild goose chase to get Dean, only to kill him at last minute and make Dad suffer.

Dad had called Joshua and Caleb for help when Sam and Dean were taken. Sam knew it had been a close call. He could remember every detail of his drowning. It haunted him.

But he was alright. At least, he was alive.

After the hospital, it had taken days for Dean to convince Sam to get into the shower. Every time the water got turned on, Sam freaked out.

It wasn't that he was trying to be a wimp; he just couldn't help but start to think of the sound of water in his ears, wetness everywhere, unable to escape, unable to do anything, unable to breathe...

For some reason, being near any kind of water scared him. More than scared him. He was terrified of the water.

Dean told him that it was okay, that it was a normal way to feel after...what happened.

It sure as hell didn't feel normal.

Dad didn't say anything. Sam thought that maybe Dean hadn't told him about the nightmares.

That was fine; Sam really didn't want Dad to know.

They'd left the state and headed west, settling somewhere in Texas for the new school year, where Dad promised they could stay for an entire semester.

It still took a long time for the nightmares to fade away. Sam knew that it scared Dean half to death every time he woke up because Sam was choking in his sleep on imagined water.

But then, it scared Sam half to death, too.

One night, it had taken longer than usual to wake Sam up, and Dean had thought that he was going to dream-drown, or whatever you would call dying because you're dreaming about drowning.

Afterwards, Sam had pretended to go back to sleep, but couldn't really, because he didn't want to dream about it again. It was too much. Too hard to face.

Dean sat on his own bed and stared at the wall for hours, then put his face in his hands and sat like that for the rest of the night. Sam thought he heard him crying quietly for a long time.

Sam hated that he couldn't get over his fear. He hated the nightmares. He hated that he was scaring Dean.

Sam hated himself for his weakness.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be Teen!chesters. Also, a fair bit of PTSD.

Woodcrest Christian was alright, for a high school. It had too many rules, the principal had a weird twitch in his neck that made him spaz every few seconds, and the cafeteria food always tasted three days old - not that there _was_ a cafeteria, it was just a huge metal roof and a bunch of tables next to the basketball court - but still...

It was alright, for a high school.

At fourteen, Sam could appreciate the benefits of a school that encouraged its students to 'love your neighbor as yourself' instead of 'shank the kid who sits next to you in Biology because he gets better grades than you.'

And gym was different every day, so he at least got to try badminton or volleyball or baseball, sometimes, which was way more fun than running laps everyday like he had at last year's school.

Or at least, that was what Sam had thought until the first day back from Christmas break.

"Tomorrow we start swim sports. You'll use your gym shorts as trunks, and you're required to shower before your fourth period class." Most of the students had laughed and then chattered about how much fun water polo and water volleyball would be.

Sam had to bite down on his tongue, hard, in order to keep himself from doing something embarrassing like whimpering. He couldn't swim. Or at least, he _wouldn't_ swim. He hated water. Water was bad. Water was dangerous.

Holy hell, what was he going to do?

It sucked, really. Sam had always liked Coach Anderson. But now he realized that Coach was just the stereotypical evil gym teacher from hell who wanted to make students' lives - or at least Sam's life - miserable.

Sam had no idea what he was going to do about it. And tomorrow was only a day away.

\-----

Dean could tell immediately that something was wrong. Sam met him in the parking lot like he usually did, but he wasn't blabbering about how excited he was to read some book or how glad he was that they were doing a new sport in gym. He was just...quiet.

Quiet was never a good thing with Sammy.

"So what's up?"

"Huh?"

Dean sighed. Sam did this thing a lot; Dean liked to call it 'playing stupid'. When Dean wanted to know something, he had to ask Sam about it specifically. For some reason, Sam got embarrassed a lot easier than he used to. Ever since...well, since what had happened a little over a year before.

"What happened today at school to make you so upset that you can't muster up a smile when you find yourself privileged enough to get into a car this awesome?"

"Nothing happened. I'm fine."

Huh. Well that was new. Sam didn't usually outright lie. The kid felt squeamish just watching Dad fill out credit card applications with fake names.

Dean decided to bring out the big guns.

"Sam." Dean only used 'the voice' when he absolutely had to. Sam couldn't ever get himself to ignore 'the voice'; Dean didn't like to use it for that very reason. Sam always deserved to have a choice.

"We're done with basketball in gym."  
  
Dean waited a beat. "Okay..."

"Coach says we start w-water sports tomorrow. Swimming-"

Dean got it immediately. It surprised him and twisted him at the same time; Sam hadn't stuttered over the word 'water' in months. Dean licked his lips, watching Sam stare at his hands in his lap, trying to think of what to say while Sam continued.

"-in the gym pool. But I - I mean I don't- the w-water, Dean, I just-" Sam was starting to breathe fast, and Dean blinked when he saw a tear fall onto Sam's lap.

"Hey, hey kiddo, calm down, it’s okay. Just breathe, calm down. You don't have to do it."

"What?" Sam was looking at him now, and Dean recognized his eyes; they had the same look, that wild kind of begging look that he'd had that day in the warehouse.

"You don't have to do it."

"But- Coach told us-"

"I'll talk to Coach. He'll understand, it'll be okay-"

"I don't want Dad to know."

Dean blinked again. Sam was looking at him, wiping at the tears on his face, frustrated.

"I don't want Dad to know, Dean. Please."

Dean looked at his little brother, who'd been so strong in the last year, after all the crap they'd been through. He could see the fear there, Sam's fear of water and the experience that ruled his nightmares. He could see the anger, Sam's anger at being unable to swim or do water sports or see Caleb and Joshua without shutting down. He could see the secret there, in how much this bothered Sam, how much this hurt him, and the question for permission: knowing that Sam would obey if Dean said Dad needed to know, knowing that Sam trusted him.

"Of course not, Sammy. This is just you and me. I'll talk to Coach tomorrow."

* * *

"I heard you're not doing water polo because you don't know how to swim," Jacob Martin sneered, "Is that true, PansySam?"

Sam did his best to ignore it. Dean had explained to Coach Anderson, who'd been really cool about the whole thing. Sam was running laps and practicing his jump shot while all the other guys in freshman class were in the gym's large pool, splashing around and gossiping like chicks about him.

Hence the new and totally un-clever nickname. This was supposed to be high school, not kindergarten.

"Hey PansySam, it is true you're too much of a wimp for water polo and that's why you ditch gym all the time?"

"PansySam, is it true you have webbed toes and that's why you won't go swimming?"

"Hey PansySam, is it true you're mom drowned in a lake, and you're scared of the water?"

Sam tried to ignore it, but when Bryce Shaw mentioned his mom and drowning in the same sentence, he went too far.

Without even thinking about it, Sam was on top of him, slamming his fists into Bryce's face over and over again, seeing red until he saw blood flowing from Bryce's nose.

The fight didn't last long; the teachers at Christian schools don't really allow that kind of thing to stand in the middle of History class.

Long story short, Sam was in pretty big trouble. The school tried to call Dad, but their home phone number was bogus, they couldn't afford a landline. They didn't actually suspend Sam, because he was provoked, and he was 'usually such an honorable young man', so they just gave him a very stern warning.

Dean, however, thought it was hilarious.

"You broke his nose? In sixth period?!"

"He was ticking me off."

"Dude, Bryce is three years older than you!"

"Yeah, he's only in that class because he failed in his freshman year."

"Aw man, wish I could've seen his face."

"You couldn't really tell it was a face, actually."

Dean laughed for a long time. Sam laughed with him.

But really, Sam didn't feel like laughing at all. Actually, he just felt like punching Bryce some more. Nobody called him names or said he’s was a wimp after that, but he knew they were all thinking it.

\-----

Dean waited in the parking lot like he usually did. He always parked in the same spot, at the same time, and did the same thing.

He scanned.

He watched the kids and their parents, the cars and the teachers. He made sure everything was in its place, that nothing seemed unnatural, that nothing seemed wrong.

Just 'cause it was a school day didn't mean the infamous Winchester luck would take a break.

And Sam was late today.

Sam was never late.

Dean decided he'd give him three minutes, and then he was gonna have to start acting like the over-protective big brother he was.

Two minutes later Sam was running to the car.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm late," Sam was panting, and Dean raised an eyebrow while Sam shoved his backpack and jacket into the car, "I can't find my History book, and I was looking for it. I think I left it in my gym locker, so I'm gonna run back and check for it."

Dean looked around. Save for a few of the teachers, the after-school crowd was already gone. Nobody was really around to cause trouble.

"Alright," Dean sighed, "Make it quick. If you're not back in twelve minutes, I'm coming to get you."

Sam nodded and then turned to leave, but paused first.

"Wait - why twelve?" Sam asked, looking puzzled.

"Huh?"

"Why twelve minutes?"  
  
Dean grinned. "Sounds like a good number to me."

"Weirdo."

"Brat."

"Back in a sec."

Dean watched Sam run off toward the gym at the back of the school campus, sure that Sam would be back before even seven minutes were over.

Thirteen minutes later, Dean was storming into the gym.

He was shocked, horrified and thoroughly furious with what he found there.

\-----

Sam decided that this was not his day.

Not only had he managed to totally bomb his Algebra quiz, he'd forgotten his lunch, dropped his jacket in a puddle, and Bryce Shaw had been giving him 'I'm gonna get you back' looks since before gym class. Now his World History book was lost, and Sam was running around campus trying to find it.

This day sucked so badly.

The gym doors were big, heavy. Usually they were kept wide all day, opened at zero period and closed after seventh. Sam let the heavy door slam behind him after he got inside.

The lockers were between two rooms; the weight room, and the pool room. Usually, Sam took the long way around through the weight room. But today, it was locked.

Of course it was. This day sucked out loud in surround sound.

He gritted his teeth and just did it. He pushed the door to the pool room open and decided not to look at the water, to just follow the wall to the other side, and go through the door.

No problem, all he looked at was the door.

Looked at nothing but the door.

_This isn't so hard_ , he thought. He wasn't even thinking about the water-

"Hey, PansySam."

It was reflex that did it. His natural reaction made him turn towards the voice, no matter how he recognized it and disliked it, no matter how much he knew he would regret it if he did.

Sam automatically turned and faced Bryce Shaw, standing at the pools edge.

At the edge of the water.

No air.

Can't breathe.

Can't break the glass.

Can't get out.

No air.

Drowningdrowningdrowningdrowningdrowning-

"What's the matter Pansy Sam? Afraid of the water?"

Sam could feel himself sweating, could feel how his hands were shaking, and he couldn't seem to get his breathing to slow down.

He could feel Bryce Shaw coming and getting in his face.

He blocked Sam's locked view of the water. Everything seemed to clear for a moment.

Not that it helped much, because Sam was pretty much frozen and useless at that point.

"You think you're so smart, don't you Winchester? Think you can show me up by giving me a little slap in the face?" The bruise on Bryce's face was fading, he could see it, and some part of Sam's swirling mind fed him a comeback, something about how his nose must sure be fragile to break after a little slap in the face, but Sam couldn't bring himself to spit it out.

He couldn't bring himself to do much of anything, really.

"Did you hear me PansySam?" Actually, Sam hadn't, but Bryce didn't wait for an answer, "I said, if you're so tough, why don't you prove it, right now, when there's no teacher around to keep me from hitting you back? Huh?"

Bryce reached for him then, pulling him away from the wall and shoving him across the room.

Sam stumbled and let out a kind of yelp when he realized that he was between Bryce and the pool now. Sam searched frantically for something to hold on to, because he wasn't sure if he could stay standing, his legs were shaking so badly. He steadied himself just feet from the water and knelt, clutching like an idiot at the tile, and wasn't it just stupid that he could see himself both as an idiot and as completely sensible at the same time, because the water was _right there_ for crying out loud.

In the midst of his spiraling panic, Sam vaguely heard Bryce laugh.

"What's the matter PansySam? It's just a little water."

Sam looked up just in time to see Bryce's large and very solid looking shoe meet his face.

Pain spiked through his nose, he saw white and, for a moment, just the tiniest moment, he saw black.

Then he heard himself splash into the pool.

All he saw was glass, a woman with dark hair pointing a gun at his big brother and shaking her head 'no' at him.

He tried to scream, tried to do anything, reach for air, breathe, find the air - but water filled his mouth, nostrils, ears, everything, everywhere water, nothing but water, horrible wetness and cold and water, the water was everywhere, around him, inside him, the water, water, water, water.

Waterwaterwaterwaterwaterwaterwaterwater...

\-----

Dean pushed through the first door that he came to, figuring the lockers couldn't be far.

He found himself in the pool room, and he knew before the door had swung closed behind him that something was very wrong.

A boy he recognized as the famously stupid Bryce Shaw was standing at the edge of the pool looking down at it with a confused expression on his face.

The water was rippled on the surface. Someone was in the pool.

Someone was _in the pool_.

Dean bolted. He ran and dove, heading straight for the flailing blur he knew to be Sammy, _his_ Sammy, his baby brother who was terrified of the water, who hadn't been able to swim since that day, who had drowned and almost died while Dean had to watch, like Dean watched him through the water now.

He reached Sam, who was at least still moving.

He kicked up off of the pool's bottom.

When they broke the water's surface, Dean could hear Bryce Shaw yelling.

"-is going on? He really can't swim?!"

Dean pulled Sam to the edge and bodily threw him over before pulling himself up. He went to Sam, who was coughing up water and gasping for air, sounding like he was half-choking and half-sobbing.

"Sammy, Sammy are you okay? Sam, please..."

"I-I'm..." a cough, a hack, "fi-fine..." more coughing.

Dean put a hand on his brother's head briefly, then whirled around and was on his feet in seconds. Bryce Shaw was standing there like an idiot, obviously taken aback by the fact that Sam had actually almost drowned, and that the very tall, very muscular guy in the sopping wet leather jacket who had pulled Sam out of the water was most likely his brother.

Dean went for Bryce and laid him out worse than he'd done to anybody in a long time.

It only took a minute.

By then, Sam was curled up in a soaking ball of shivering kid, and Dean picked him up, carrying him like he used to when Sam didn't mind being a little spoiled, and left the gym.

"It's okay, Sammy, you're okay. I've gotcha, no more water, it's all gone. I'm here now. I've gotcha," the lot was empty outside, and Dean realized that if he hadn't been there, Sam would have drowned and died, and nobody would have even known, Bryce might have just run,"I'm so sorry, Sam," Dean whispered as they left the school campus, "I'm so sorry."

\-----

He could feel it. He could taste it, smell it, breathe it.

He spluttered and coughed, heaving water from his lungs. He felt Dean's arms, and he couldn't stop himself from starting to sob, coughing in between.

"Sammy, Sammy are you okay?" Sam tried to tell himself the water was gone, that it was okay, but he could still feel his wet clothes. He could smell the chlorine, "Sam, please..."

"I-I'm..." He coughed out more water, and feeling the wet tile beneath him made him shudder, "fi-fine..." he coughed some more, hating this, hating everything, hating water.

And he really hated Bryce.

Sam almost panicked when Dean's arms were gone, but then he heard Dean cursing and swearing while beating Bryce to a pulp, and it actually made him feel slightly better.

Just slightly.

He couldn't make himself move, though he very much wanted to. He wanted to leave the slippery tiled floor, to leave the room, the building…maybe the country.

At the very least, he wanted to get a few feet farther from the damn pool.

But he couldn't move much more than to curl up in a nearly fetal position and shake while he tried not to hyperventilate.

Eventually, he felt Dean pick him up and carry him out of the door, out of the room, out of the building, and outside. His brother carried him like a child.

At some point, he heard Dean say he was sorry.

Sam hated that Dean felt sorry, that Dean thought this could in any way be his fault. Sam hated that he couldn't get himself to stop shaking or crying. He hated that he couldn't get the water out of his head, that all he could think about was how it would cover him, suffocate him, smother him. He had such loathing for the water, for his fear of it. It made him feel weak, and Sam hated himself for his weakness.


	3. His Weakness - part 3/5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jess, Brady, and other Stanford-era folk featured in this chapter.

He loved her.

There was no getting around it, changing it or ignoring it.

Sam Winchester was in love with Jessica Moore.

"I really like the bathroom, Sam. The shower's really big."

Her hair was getting long, but he liked it that way. He liked to watch her long hair splay out on the pillow at night. He liked to run his fingers through it, to catch the scent of strawberry shampoo from it in the morning.

"Oooh, look at the cabinets! Sam, did you see the cabinets? Ah, I totally love this..."

She'd taken to wearing mix-matched colors lately. Things like purple-ish socks with her jeans, and a blue tank under a green shirt. She looked good in any color, so she looked spectacular wearing more than one at the same time, like she was now.

"I think this is really it, Sam. It has everything. What do you think?"

She came up to him and grabbed his hand, looking up at him with her beautiful eyes and her lips involuntarily puckered in that expression that she always made when she asked his opinion, the expression that told him, 'I want what you want.'

"I think it's perfect," Sam replied, sliding a strand of her golden hair behind her ear, "We'll move in on Thursday?"

\-----

The apartment was close to Stanford, close enough that they weren't the only students who lived in the building.

That was fine with Sam; the guys who lived next door to him liked the same movies he did, and all of their girlfriends were majoring in the same thing, so they all got along well.

Brennen and Sam had a joke that Psych majors were the only ones worth loving.

It was barely two weeks after they'd moved in when Jess walked out of the bathroom in her bathing suit.

Sam grinned and made a show of looking her up and down and licking his lips. Jess threw her towel at his head.

"Going somewhere?" Sam asked between laughs, pulling her from the dresser onto his lap, sitting on the bed with her, "because I may have to object when you look this tempting."

Jess kissed his forehead and he closed his eyes briefly, then opened them to look up at her smile. She was playing with his hair; god, he loved when she did that.

"I'm gonna head down to the pool. Wanna come?"

"Naw, I'm uh, I've gotta clean the kitchen," he answered kissing her cheek and then slipping her off his lap so that she was sitting beside him.

She promptly let herself fall on the bed and made a pouting, whining sound.

"Saaaa-aaam."

He laughed.

"What?"

"You never come to the pool with me. Or the beach. Or to Alex and Andrea's parties-"

"Andrea hates me."

"Only because you never come to their parties!"

Sam sighed, falling back so he was lying beside Jessica.

"Please?" she asked, cupping his face, "I didn't make plans with anyone so that we could have some time for just us. I just wanted to swim for a bit, get a tan. Besides..." she pulled herself over and on top of him, and he wrapped his hands around her back, "I want to see if the jacuzzi is all it's cracked up to be. Brennen said it was great fun if you had the right company..."

"Jess..."

"C'mon, Sam! A little water won't hurt you."

Sam looked up at Jess's teasing expression, and felt the smile fade from his face. He watched hers melt too. She looked confused, and a little worried.

"Sam?"

He didn't say anything. Now she was narrowing her eyes at him. She looked affronted.

"Whatever," she said, standing and frowning, "I'm gonna go to the pool. I'll be back later." She turned to leave.

"Jess, wait-"

"Why?"

Sam wasn't sure what to say to that. Jessica didn't usually sound that way; hard, impatient.

"Just tell me, Sam!"

It was Sam's turn to be confused.

"What?"

"Just tell me what it is! I know that face, and you're hiding something from me," Jessica was mad now, he could tell. She hated being lied to, but she usually let him get away with it, because he rarely hid things from her.

Except for his past, his family, and everything that came near the subject of why he didn't go to Alex and Andrea's pool parties or to the beach or in the jacuzzi or to water parks.

"Sam, you _always_ feel like cleaning whenever you want to get out of something, so don't give me that crap. The kitchen is spotless from Tuesday, when you cleaned it instead of going to Alex's house for his birthday. And the bathroom is clean from when you didn't go to see Mike's band play at the pier yesterday. So either you're some kind of secret neat-freak or you're gay, because generally, guys don't like to clean!"

Sam would have laughed, because it was kinda funny; he could see the humor in the fact that Jessica was yelling at him, standing in her bathing suit and accusing him of being gay because he cleaned the apartment all the time. But he couldn't find the part of him that laughed at things right now, because most of him was either caught up in feeling like a jerk, and the rest was screaming at his memory to stop, please stop replaying that film in his head, the one where he was thirteen years old again and stuck inside a glass tank and there was a gun pointed at Dean and he couldn't breathe, and he was drowning, drowning...

But Jess was still saying something.

"I love you Sam, but I swear, I just feel like you don't trust me." Sam wanted to interrupt, but he was feeling muddled, like he couldn't recall how to say words, and Jessica was upset, she was hurt, and it was his fault. God, he felt awful, "You make excuses and I can tell you're lying, but I don't say anything because I think 'oh, he'll tell me when he's ready' but ya know, it's hard to think that, and it just makes me wonder what it's gonna be next time, when it's like, 'oh, he'll only tell me what he's really doing while he's _cleaning_ if I happen to walk in on it one day' or 'he'll tell who he's cheating with when he's tired of pretending' and I just don't know what to think anymore, because I don't want us to have secrets, Sam! I don't want you to have to hide things from me!"

"Jess, I'm aquaphobic."

"I mean, we've been together for over a year, we live under the same roof, we sleep in the same _bed_ for crying out loud, but you still don't tell me things, you still hide from me!"

"Jess, I'm afraid of water."

"And it's like-"

" _Jessica_." She shut up for a second, and then her ears caught up with her mouth.

"What," she looked incredulous, "what did you say?"

Sam didn't say anything, just stared at the floor.

"You- you're...afraid of water?" Jess was staring at him, he could tell, but he didn't want to look up, and he could feel his face getting hot.

"Yes."  
  
A long moment passed.

"Oh."

They didn't say anything for a bit. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this small.

He heard Jess cross to him, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her.

Her hand found his face, and he closed his eyes, then opened them when he saw the inside of a glass tank behind his eyelids. He tried to speak, to explain himself, why he was this way, that he had a good reason, that he was sorry he couldn't change it. His voice came out husky and hoarse.

"Jess-"

"I love you, Sam." He looked at her, uncertain.

"I've never been with anybody else, I swear," Sam insisted, "I'm sorry I made you think that."

"It's okay. I'm sorry, I didn’t really think that, I was just trying to make you mad."

"I didn't want to lie, I trust you, but I didn't know what to say-"

"No, it's fine, I just- I had no idea."

"It's just, I can't help myself with- with water."

"Hey," she pulled his face closer to her, and her eyes were soft, no more anger, no more frustration, "you are the bravest, strongest, most amazing man I have ever known. This," she smiled at him, "does not change anything."

Sam nodded and pulled her into an embrace, tight and long.

They didn't go to the pool that day.

They stayed inside, and Sam told her the story, why he could barely make it through the shower every day.

She cried, and Sam came close to doing the same.

The next morning, Andrea called Jessica, asking if she wanted to come over next Saturday for their next bash, promising that the pool would be heated.

Sam was the one to answer the phone. Jess told him to tell her they had plans.

Sam took a deep breath, and he told her that they were free, and they would come. Both of them.

"Yeah, Andrea, I'm coming, too. Yeah, see you there."

\-----

Jessica was a little wary at first when Sam insisted that they go to the party, but she didn't complain. She sensed that he wasn't trying to prove anything.

He just wanted to be with Jessica. Maybe he needed to do this for himself, too.

And everybody was glad to see Sam.

"Hey! The hermit finally left his hovel!"

"Hey Brennen."

"The lady finally let you out of the house, eh, Sam?"

"At least he _has_ a lady, Mike."

"Hey!"

Everyone laughed, and they had a lot of fun drinking, playing cards, swimming. Some football game was on, so a bunch of people were watching that.

Jess was glad that Sam was having fun, and nobody even mentioned the fact that Sam didn't get in the pool.

At least, not until they'd gotten drunk.

"Hey, Ssam! Long time noooo see, buddy! Haha, ahaha!"

"Wow, Greg," Sam wrinkled his nose, while Jess giggled at him from across the room, "how much have you had? You smell like a bar."

"Aw, c'mon Sam, be nice!"

"HAHAHA, NICE!" Brady shouted. Sam was laughing out loud now.

They all were sitting outside by the fire pit. The pool was a good twenty feet away, and Sam was okay. He was still sober; no way was he driving home even the slightest bit buzzed when he had Jess in the car with him. Besides, he wanted to have as much control as possible to handle being this close to so much water. Half of the party, on the other hand, were too drunk to talk straight.

"Hey, less go in da pool..."

"Yeah! Poolio."

"Poolio?"

"Ya know, like coolio but with a 'p'."

"HAHAHAHA!"

"C'mon, Sam! Come in the poolio with us!"

Sam shook his head, still laughing.

"No thanks, guys," he said, standing and pushing through them to grab another soda from inside the house.

"But it's heated an' everything, man!"

"Hahahaha, poolio! Hahaha-"

"Hey! Let's throw him in!"

Sam stiffened when a chorus of 'yeah's answered Derek's drunken suggestion. He felt hands gripping his arms, and he pulled away quickly, whirling to face them.

"No," he said, and he heard the group seated over by the fire pit quiet. He knew that his voice was suddenly different from any way that any of them had ever heard him speak; low, dangerous. Deadly.

The group reaching for him didn't notice, however.

Sam saw Alex reach to grab him again, and they were laughing, all of them, laughing at their joke, excited to tease Sam and throw him in the pool.

Sam grabbed Alex's arm and pulled, turning him and pushing it up against his back before shoving him roughly away.

"Sam?!" Sam heard Jessica, and he lifted his eyes to find her. He hesitated.

He saw her a split second before he realized that the laughing was behind him now, and that the guys were collectively shoving him toward the pool.

They pushed him hard, and he stumbled, falling.

The brick ended and the water came up to meet his face.

He heard the guys laughing, and he heard Jessica scream his name before there was a splash that cut off everything so that all he could hear was the rushing water.

In his mouth, in his nose, nothing but blue, wet space, no air, he couldn't breathe, he was panicking, he didn't know which way was up, couldn't find a way up, couldn't find a way out, the glass, he couldn't break the glass, and Dean, where was Dean, no air, water everywhere, drowning, drowning, drowning...

_No, he begged, his eyes rolling back in his head while he felt the water flood his throat, no, please, not again._

\-----

"SAM?!" Jessica screamed when she saw what was happening.

Sam hit the water and she couldn't see what he was doing underneath it.

But he was underneath it, and Jessica knew, she knew he couldn't swim, that he wouldn't even be able to try, to hold his breath, that he would panic, and-

"Get him out! Get him _out_! He can't _swim_!"

Everybody was jumping up, some people were staring at her. A couple of people weren't getting it at all. Jessica was trying to get to the pool, but she was stumbling, running into people, and she could see Brennen diving in the water, where Sam was flailing at the bottom, and she felt a sick kind of adrenalin surging through her, felt nauseous and lightheaded and wide awake all at once.

Brennen broke the surface with Sam in his arms, and Jessica realized that she hadn't stopped screaming, because Andrea was grabbing her and shouting at her to calm down.

Jessica stopped screaming, but she started crying instead. Sam wasn't moving and Brennen was doing CPR and everything was still so loud, and _why isn't Sam moving._ She knelt next to him and grabbed his hand and tried to quiet herself.

But then Sam gasped and coughed up a lot of water and Brennen sat back and put his face in his hands and started to cry, too, saying 'oh my god' over and over.

Someone had to have called an ambulance, because Jessica could hear the siren.

It didn't matter. Sam was coughing harshly and shaking but Jessica pulled him close and sobbed into his shoulder, kissing his face and his neck and his hands and then just holding him, afraid and relieved and so _angry_ at Greg and Derek and Brady and those other jerks, and at herself for bringing Sam here in the first place.

Sam was coughing, only half awake in her arms, and she whispered in his ear, her voice broken and hitching.

"I-it's okay, baby, it's okay now-"

"D-dee....deee..."

"I'm so sorry Sam, but it's alright, you're okay."

"Nn...Dean?"

"No, Sam, it's me, Jess," she told him, hearing people running through the house and into the backyard, probably paramedics.

"Jess? Jess...love you..."

"I love you too, Sam, I love you so much, oh god, I'm so sorry."

\-----

Sam didn't remember leaving the house, or if the paramedics saw him or not. He did remember that Jess was shouting louder than he'd ever heard her before, and that she'd sounded downright scary when she told Greg just how much of a useless idiot he was, and elaborated on just how much she hated Brady, and described how, if she ever saw Derek again, he'd lose his manhood to a pair of pliers.

Then she started crying, hard, and she must have thanked Brennen a hundred times. She told Sam she loved him at least twice that, and then he remembered Alex and Andrea apologizing profusely, and Jessica sounding angry and yelling again.

But Sam didn't remember exactly what had happened after all of that.

He woke up the next morning in his own bed, next to Jessica, who wasn't asleep.

She was staring at him, the side of her face on the pillow, her eyes red and swollen, looking horrible - exhausted and maybe a little sick.

"Jess?" Sam winced at the sound of his voice. It was throaty and hoarse; his throat felt scratchy and sore, "wha's wrong?"

Jess just looked at him, and he saw a single tear slide out of her eyes and towards her ear.

"Hey," he brought a hand to her face and cupped her cheek. Her chin started to tremble.

"Don't, Jess, I'm okay," he pulled her close and held her while she cried herself out.

Sam knew that Jess wouldn't be crying if last night hadn't happened. Last night wouldn't have happened if he didn't have this...thing. This fear, this _weakness_.

In that moment, while Jessica was crying and telling him that she was so sorry and that she had been so scared because he wasn't breathing, and while he insisted that he was fine, that it wouldn't happen again, that it wasn't her fault; in that moment, Sam hated himself so damn much.

And he decided that it was going to change; starting today, this weakness wasn't going to be a part of him anymore.

\-----

He waited until Jessica was asleep that night. He made sure that she had the blankets over her, and that the window was closed. She was exhausted; Sam knew that she wouldn't wake up.

He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.

He slipped out of the apartment, down the stairs and out around the back of the building, to the gated area that enclosed the complex's pool and spa.

The pool looked big. And wet. And big.

_I don't think I can do this._

He opened the gate with listless fingers, feeling his heart accelerating. The gate clanged lightly shut behind him.

_Okay, I really cannot do this._

He stood there and stared at the pool. It was long, surrounded by patio tile and signs that read 'no diving in shallow area' or 'no swimming after 10:00pm' or 'no running - ground is wet'. There were numbers painted on the pool's sides; 3 ft, 8 ft, 13 ft. The end Sam was standing closest to was the shallow end, with three or four steps leading down into the water, a metal hand rail next to them.

Sam could feel his hands opening and closing over and over of their own accord, and he couldn't stop his breathing from sounding haggard and hurried. He made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat.

_Why can't I_ do _this?_

He closed his eyes for a moment, and he stopped shaking as much. He wasn't cold; he was wearing only a pair of his old jean shorts - he didn't have any trunks - and the night air was playing across his skin lightly, like tickling fingers.

He thought of Jessica, sleeping in her bed, and how tired she was, how scared she had been. He knew how much last night had affected her. He thought of how she would worry about him whenever they went to anyone's house together, how she would probably worry over this their entire lives together. He tried to focus on how much he loved her, and how he needed to do this for her.

Sam opened his eyes and stepped to the edge of the pool. Tremors racked his body from head to bare toes. He forced himself to take a long, deep, if harried, breath.

And he stepped one foot forward, down into the water.

Water. Cold. Never still, constantly moving and shifting around his prickling skin, like something alive, purposing to conquer him. He stifled the sudden urge he had to whimper, feeling like a child, a weakling. He thought of his dad, and felt like a cowardly, courageless imitation of a real man.

Twice he had to pull back and step away, focus on breathing, and try again. On the third try, he forced himself to stand there like that, one foot in the water, his mind and body screaming at him to pull it out and run, his heart pounding like a bass drum inside his chest, an audible thrum in his ears. He gritted his teeth, grinding them together, his hands fisting, itching to do something, anything but keep feeling the horrible wetness around his foot.

Feet. He'd just jerked his other foot into the water.

He was losing it. He couldn't stop his breathing from accelerating, everything was swaying, he was going to fall. He felt every muscle in his chest and stomach and arms and back, everything tense and shivering, but somehow paralyzed, unable or unwilling to move, he wasn't sure which.

He pictured Jessica in his mind, pleading with himself to think only of her, to do this for her, to draw strength from her. He loved Jessica.

He saw her face in his head, her smile and her lips and her perfect eyes. He saw her hair playing around her cheeks, her eyes reassuring and comforting, imagined an echo of her voice telling him he could do it.

He wasn't convinced in the slightest. It didn't work, the picture faded, and he was staring at the water again, lit from the pool lights and still cold, still moving, defeating him.

He couldn't beat this.

_Yes, you can._

Another voice, the barest, meanest memory, small but strong, familiar.

_You can do this. Don't be afraid._

Another image rose up in Sam's head. Another face, not smiling, but determined, a set expression that grounded him, made it almost possible to stop shaking.

_I've gotcha, Sammy. Don't be afraid._

Sam saw Dean, not like he usually did, through a memory of a glass tank, a gun to his head. He saw his big brother, his green eyes and sandy hair, all leather and stubble. Dean would tell him that he could do it, and believe it. Sam knew that without a doubt.

He stepped again. And again. The water rose around him, cold and wet and horrible, but almost bearable, as long as he kept picturing his brother.

Dean made it okay. Just like he always did. Just like he always had.

Sam was able to swim that night. It took hours to work up to it, he didn't enjoy it, and he couldn't fall asleep afterward. He didn't have any desire to do it again anytime soon if he could avoid it.

But when Jessica woke up in the morning and asked him if he wanted to go get some coffee, he smiled and kissed her forehead, and told her that it was a great idea, and that maybe they could get some lunch and picnic at the beach afterwards.

They spent the afternoon laid out on a blanket, watching the waves from a reasonable, normal distance.

Sam was determined to never hate himself for his weakness again.

 


	4. His Weakness - part 4/5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features the season one episode Dead In The Water.

**Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin**

The freeway was gray underneath a gray sky, and the land on either side looked gray with dead plants and lack of sunlight. Freakin gray.

Dean pulled the car to a rumbling stop in front of the Carlton house, pulling the gear shift into park and then leaning back into the seat with a sigh. The sky was too flat, too gloomy.

_Why can't we get a little sun every now and then? Stupid weather._

He made a grim sort of smirk as he turned to look at Sam.

He stopped himself from speaking when he saw him. Sam was staring out the window at the black water of the lake behind the house.

_Oh my god. I forgot._

Dean clenched his jaw, silently cursing himself. _How could I forget? How could I possibly forget_ that _._

"Alright, let's get this done," Sam said, calmly, sounding bored.

Dean started, confused. Sam was looking at him expectantly, hand on the door, calm as anything.

"Wh...okay, yeah," Dean stumbled over the words, feeling out of the loop somehow. Sam was looking at him questioningly, like Dean was acting strange _, of course I'm acting strange, since when are you fine being within a mile of any body of water?_ Sam just opened the door and got out of the car.

Dean watched him for a second, unsure of what was happening.

"You coming?" Sam asked from outside, tapping impatiently on the windshield.

"Yeah," Dean muttered, "yeah, I'm coming..." not loudly enough to be heard. He climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him and stepping up next to Sam to head up to the front door, watching his brother's face out of the corner of his eye.

_What the hell, Sammy?_

\-----

Will Carlton led them through the back of the house and outside to a massive view of the lake. Dean looked from the glassy water to his brother, who seemed to be having no reaction except to look at the lake and scrunch up his nose once, then keep walking.

_Well damn._

The edge of the water was more gravel than sand. Dirt with random weeds and tufts of grass lined the logs laid along the water, a kind of barrier that didn't seem very effective to Dean. He cast a glance at Sam again, wondering when Sam had just _gotten over_ the whole 'deathly afraid of water' thing. They were walking out onto the gravelly part, nearer and nearer to the logs at the lake's edge. If anything, Sam looked professional, unfazed and merely contemplative.

_Seriously, what the heaping hell?_

Dean, however, was not okay. Getting further from regular land toward the musty smell of waterlogged earth and soddy plantlife, with fishy air and dampness everywhere, Dean was more freaked out than he wanted to admit. _He's fine, I should be fine too. He's not gonna fall in or anything, I mean, he can't fall in, we're not going that close, right? And I mean, even if we did, it's not like he could drown in the shallo- oh my god is that a dock? What the hell, we're not walking toward the dock are we? We are, we're walking in that direction, why are we walking toward the dock. Sam could fall, he could fall off and drown and die. Hey, we're stopping, oh good, no dock. Why are you so freaking calm, Sam?!_

Dean did his best to keep his face blank, trying not to freak out. _I'm not freaking out, nothing freaks me out, I'm totally calm, and fine, and not confused at all. Is the kid talking? I think Carlton's talking, I should probably pay attention._

"...about a hundred yards out," Will was saying, "and that's where she got dragged down."

_Dragged down, held under, glass tank, school pool, oh god._

"And you're sure she didn't just drown?" Dean blurted, and he was relieved he sounded so nonchalant about the whole thing. _Just drown? Just drown? What am I talking about, nobody 'just drowns.' Limp bodies that don't move, breathing for them, compressions one, two, three, four, five._

"Yeah," Will answered, and the sadness in his voice was profound, sobering. He looked out at the lake, no doubt seeing what Dean had seen over and over again in his mind, "She was a varsity swimmer; she practically grew up in that lake. She's as safe out there as in her own bathtub." Dean watched the wistful look fade as Will turned back to him. _Who says a bathtub's safe, huh, Sam?_

"So, no splashing?"

Dean jerked when Sam spoke, surprised to realize he hadn't been expecting to hear him talking during this at all. Dean didn't look at him, but the sound of Sam's voice gave him enough to picture what his brother was looking like in his head; quiet but calm, nothing but a perfect job-face. A hunter.

"No signs of distress?" Sam finished and Dean struggled to keep his confusion under wraps, feeling something else rising inside of him besides the guilt and nervousness, something heated and formless.

"No," Carlton was responding, sounding frustrated, "That's what I'm telling you-"

"Did you see any shadows in the water?" Sam interrupted, "Maybe some dark shape breached the surface?" and Dean looked him full in the face now, his mouth slightly open. It was shocking to see Sam like this, able to think and function when the water was _right there, it's right there, Sam, can't you see it? I can't even_ _think_ _, how can_ _you _think about the hunt when the water is__ right _there?_ Dean felt the hot thing inside him grow and flush up through his head, barely staying away from his face. Anger.

_I'm angry, why am I angry, get a hold of yourself._

"No," Will Carlton told Sam, "again, she was really far out there."

_Say something, act normal._

"You ever see any strange tracks along the shore line?"

_Oh yeah, real smooth there, Dean. Totally normal._

The look on Will Carlton's face made Dean feel slightly stupid, and did nothing to ease the fiery and unexplained anger that wouldn't stop burning at his insides.

"No, never," Will said uncertainly, "Why? Why, what do you think's out there?"

_Say something, Dean, Sam's looking at you._

"We'll let you know as soon as we do."

And with that, Dean turned to stride away, still trying to figure out why he was feeling so upset, so betrayed.

"What about your father?" Dean whirled when he heard Sam speak, his voice coming from a ways behind him, not at all where he'd thought Sam had been, "Can we talk to him?"

And Dean would have liked to pretend it never happened, but he had a brief and sharp moment of panic when he saw his brother standing so close to the lake without him, so close to the water that always seemed to get the better of him except for _right freaking now_.

Suddenly, Dean knew exactly why he was angry.

The kid looked back towards the dock, and Dean followed his gaze as he stepped back to Sam's side, trying to cool down. He saw the man sitting out on the dock by a boat, staring out over the water. The anger was quelled by a sudden sweep of honest fear in Dean's belly.

_No, no I don't want Sam out there, not on the dock, it's too close, I don't care if he's not afraid anymore, I don't care if he doesn't need me this time, I_ _don't want-_

Dean was glad when Will said no. They walked steadily back to the Impala in silence.

The hot sensation was back, mixed with an icy cold streak. _Why is this a big deal? So what if he got over it. So what if he didn't feel the need to mention it to me. It’s only the biggest obstacle he's ever faced in his life. God, why is this killing me?_

In the car, Dean sighed while Sam walked around and opened to passenger side to climb inside. Dean looked at his brother, careful to keep the fire and ice off of his face, trying not to look shocked and angry, or belittled or confused or guilty or anything else. Sam looked fine. Just fine.

"You okay?" Dean asked gruffly. Sam looked surprised.

"Am I okay?"

Dean just raised his eyebrows a little.

"Yeah," Sam said, looking uncertain about whether to say anything else. Dean stared at him a little longer.

_Well, he's not lying. When did this happen? It's like I don't even know him._

"What?" Sam asked, looking uncomfortable now.

"Nothin'."

Dean started the car and pulled away.

\-----

The Lakefront Motel was only a couple of blocks from the sheriff's station, as Andrea had so nicely pointed out to him.

_A decent pick-up line? I'm the king of pick-up lines. I'm the friggin' guru of lines that will get you to jump into bed with me. Just didn't want to use any of them then. Pshhh….sense of direction...pff._

Dean was waiting for Sam to get out of the shower so that they could do some research and figure out what was drowning _drowning, not breathing, tank, pool, Sam, drowning_ the people around this stupid gray town.

In fact, Dean was noticing that Sam was taking a pretty long shower, which was weirding him right the hell out.

Sam used to take, like, three minutes in the shower, three and a half tops, never in for an extended amount of time. He used to hardly get all of the shampoo out of his hair.

He'd spent eleven minutes and fourteen seconds in there already. Not that Dean was counting or anything.

Still it was just weird to think that Sam could sit there and possibly relish the hot water.

Dean shook himself. _Stop wiggin' out._ Not that he was wiggin' out to begin with. Not that he even used words like _wiggin’_ anyway. Ugh.

The sound of the shower cut out. Dean fumbled for a minute to find something to do, or to at least look like he'd been doing. He settled for playing solitaire on the open laptop. _Sonuvabitch._ Make that spider solitaire. _How does this crap work?_

Sam came out toweling his hair, and set about grabbing clothes before shutting himself back inside the foggy bathroom to change.

Dean barely caught himself before slamming the laptop shut. As it was, he smashed his fingers and jumped up, cursing.

Sam came back out and stared for just a second, clearly trying to stifle a smirk. Dean just glared, and bit his tongue to keep from saying anything. _Get over it Dean, just do the job._

Sam came over and sat down at the laptop, and proceeded to pull up various pages of information, narrating like usual the specifics of the case. Dean couldn't help being pissed off about it, but he managed to keep his face neutral as he came to stand behind Sam and look at the computer screen over his brother's left shoulder, even though he was seriously irked. _He's talking so casually_ , Dean mused, frustrated, but he noticed Sam also never actually said the word 'drown' during his little monologue. _Fine. I can play it cool, too. Easy._

And it was.

Until they saw the picture of Lucas, the kid from the police station. Andrea's kid. _Ah hell._

Dean stood up straight and stood back, the anger rising up again. He knew a hint of it was showing up in his expression along with the tightness in his chest. He looked at the picture again, at the kid with long hair and big eyes, and he didn't even see Lucas anymore. It was Sam.

Sam, who was still reading so calmly, sounding a bit sad but not much else, while Dean could barely control himself. Dean took a breath, and lifted a hand to scratch the back of his head as he tried to find something to say, but Sam commented first.

"Looks like we have an eye witness after all," Sam surmised, and Dean pursed his lips, zoning out as he looked at Lucas's face.

"No wonder that kid was so freaked out," and Dean caught Sam's shoulders tightening out of his periphery, the tension suddenly lining the side of his brother's face. _Fine_ , Dean decided, a sour tang of bitterness flitting across his mind. Dean added a clarification, "Watching one of your parents die isn't something you just get over." Sam relaxed, even if his frown grew more pronounced.

"Right," Sam said, his eyes flickering.

_Right_ , Dean thought, staring at the back of his brother's shaggy head. _Exactly._

_\-----_

He felt another uncontrollable moment of panic when they went back to visit Bill Carlton after Will drowned in their kitchen sink, because this time they had to go out on to the dock. _So not okay, so not okay._

But it was obvious that Sam didn't have this under quite as much control as Dean had originally thought. While he was gauging every step that Sam took, _older brother, okay, I'm allowed to be a bit paranoid,_ he saw the pause before each step. Only a moment's hesitation, barely noticeable.

He also saw Sam check that Dean was still there at every other step. Being on the dock was clearly weirding Sam out.

_Me too, man,_ Dean tried to force his heart to stop pounding in his throat, _me too._

\-----

"Let me talk to her," Sam said, like he knew everything.

Dean turned to face him, and they stood like that for almost a whole minute, in stony silence, but Dean could see it in Sam's eyes, what he was really saying, ' _I know how to help her get over this and you don't'._

_Dean wondered if his own face was telegraphing as much._ _Can't you just....tell me?_

Andrea was just in the next room, wrapped in a robe with her hair still wet and still coughing up a bit of water, crying. She hadn't acknowledged Dean's consoling or questioning at all.

The woman had almost drowned. And Sam had pulled her out of the full tub. Sam had stuck his arms in that dark water without hesitation. Sam wanted to be the one to talk to her.

Dean didn't have anything to say. He nodded stiffly and stood aside.

\-----

Sam strode carefully over to Andrea sitting on the couch, and sat across from her. The sun was just coming up outside the window and it made the tear tracks on her cheeks look freshly wet.

They sat there for just a second. He knew that Dean was just outside in the hall, Sam could all but hear him holding his breath, listening.

He looked at Andrea, who was avoiding his eyes.

"Can you tell me?" he asked her quietly.

And then he heard Dean walk swiftly away, down the hall and up the stairs, no doubt to check on Lucas.

\-----

Lucas was in the water. It was all Sam could get his mind around, the boy, a kid, in the water, dark and cold and everywhere.

He had to _do_ something.

"Andrea, stay there!" he called behind him, running down the dock, and when she started to protest, "We'll get him! Just stay on the dock!" _We. We. We. Dean's with me. We'll get him. We._

And then Sam dove, and when he saw the inside of a glass tank, he punched his way through it and swam deeper, eyes peeled for Lucas.

\-----

Dean dove.

He sensed Sam dive in behind him, and it was like a punch in the gut, Dean blew out most of his air in one gust, and then twisted around in the water, eyes wide and stinging in the murky water as he could barely make out Sam swimming, _swimming, swimming, oh my god,_ and just like that, they were both scanning the dark lake, going deeper and then bolting back up for air.

Dean got up first, and with the air came back that feeling, the one where he was on the other side of the glass, and his hands were tied.

"Sam?!"

And then Sam broke the surface, and he was there, and Dean didn't hesitate again before diving back down, searching for Lucas.

\-----

Sam balked.

Jake was in the water, and something was pulling him down.

Sam tried, but he couldn't find him anywhere.

He felt sick when he thought of Jake drowning to death.

\-----

Without making the jump consciously, Dean had deceived himself once he got the kid in his arms.

It wasn't Lucas he was trying to save anymore, it was his brother.

And when they broke the surface, and he wasn't breathing, Dean wasn't sure if he could either.

He got them to shore, and just like that it wasn't sand or dirt or gravel, but it was the dirty, sopping concrete floor of a warehouse, with broken glass scattered around, and Dean started CPR without a second thought.

He was glad for the water on his face.

\-----

Sam was holding Andrea, watching horrified as Dean looked almost desperate while he worked on Lucas.

"Sammy," Dean managed brokenly, once between compressions, and Sam barely caught it over Andrea sobbing.

"Dean?" Sam answered, his eyes hot and locked on the boy's chest.

"God, Sam, please," Dean said, shakier this time, and it clicked in Sam's head at exactly the same moment that Lucas's lungs kick-started, and Dean gasped, and fell back on his haunches, and gripped his hair with his hands, staring at the boy coughing up water as his mom pulled him into her arms.

Sam reached out and gripped Dean's shoulder, shaking him.

"Dean," he watched his brother drag his eyes away from Lucas, "Here, Dean. I'm here."

And Dean blinked at him, nodded once, then looked away.

\-----

Dean was glad for the water on his face.

He couldn't tell if he was crying or not, but he didn't really want to know.

Yeah, really didn't want to know.


	5. His Weakness - part 5/5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features the season two episode Playthings.

**Cornwall, Connecticut**   
**Pierpont Inn**

Tyler was in the water.

Sam was bashing the door in with the pot, hammering on the glass. Again. Again.

_No, please._

Sam knew what it would be like for her, he had to help, because when you couldn't swim, all you could do was panic, and the water would swirl around you and sink into you and flood you everywhere.

Crack, crack, crack against the glass of the door, the glass of the tank…

Spider web patterns spread as Sam beat the glass until it shattered, and without pausing to think, Sam was pushing through the doorway, panting. He crossed the floor, a foot on the balcony banister, leapt up and fell, quickly, the water rushing up to meet him.

And then he remembered that he didn't have Dean.

_Water..._

He grit his teeth.

He fell onto the pool cover, the plastic surrounding him as the water whooshed around him, filling his ears. For a moment he had to panic, he couldn't get through the plastic, couldn't see through it, and he punched, flailing, about to lose his hold on the reason he was in there to begin with, about to forget how to hold his breath at all.

He shoved it away to the side, and there was Tyler, floating still and small in the pool water just feet away from him.

He stroked out, swimming toward her, and tugged her up with him, lungs burning now, skin prickling at the feel of the wetness, his heart accelerating with the need to be out of the water _now_.

He broke the surface and pushed her up into the air, and made his way to the shallower part, breathing small and fast, too fast, _she's not breathing at all_ , his casted hand soaked and soggy and his clothes heavy on him, threatening to pull him back down, _she's drenched, she'd dead weight_. Sam tried to focus on Tyler, limp in his arms, and not the blue expanse of the wide pool around his waist trying to break him.

\-----

Dean finally got the door open with a vicious kick, breaking through and bolting through the hall. The tile ended and turned into the pool room, where Sam was in the water, holding Tyler.

They met at the pool's edge, where Sam laid Tyler down, and then Susan was kneeling, and it was like everything was in slow motion. Dean was back a foot away and staring at Susan and reading her mind, _no, no please, not like this, no,_ because he knew, he knew what this felt like, he knew what it would feel like to her if-

Tyler choked out a cough, and spat water, and then time sped up again, and it was like Susan could suddenly read Dean's mind as she sobbed, "Thank god, thank god."

Dean reminded himself to inhale just as Sam spoke.

"Tyler, do you see Maggie anywhere?"

"No she's gone."

Dean watched Sam lift his gaze, and they shared a look, Dean silently screaming, _get out of the water, now,_ and Sam silently pleading, _please get me out of the water,_ with his hands and arms held gingerly above it, shivering. Dean tried to push down the feeling, looking up and around, then looked back to Sam.

He put out a hand, "Get out. C'mon." _Now. Please._

Sam looked desperate to oblige.

They followed Susan and Tyler out, Sam shaking and Dean furtively watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"You cold?" he asked quietly. Sam jumped.

"What? No. Yeah. I dunno, I'm fine." Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Alright." But then Sam huffed, seeming frustrated.

"Was just...scared. For a minute." He sounded like he was confessing a sin, and that had Dean freezing in his tracks, with Sam stopping a good step and a half in front of him.

"Dean?"

"Why?" Dean's voice was still quiet, still low, but he kept his eyes intense and on Sam's face, which looked a little freaked.

"Wh-what?"

"Why were you scared?"

Sam's eyes bulged, and a pang of hurt flashed across his face as a faint blush rose in his cheeks.

" _What_? Are you _serious_?"

Dean just looked at him. Sam's face dropped, "Didj-did you seriously forget?" Sam looked like Dean had hit him, "god Dean..." and he turned to follow Susan back to the house.

"No," Dean muttered, and jogged to catch up, to grab Sam's shoulder and pull him back around, "no, Sam, I mean, I thought it was over. I thought you'd done something, managed to get over it somehow. You're still," Dean was getting a sick, pulling kind of feeling in the middle of his chest, imagining his brother leaping into the pool, still panicking, still terrified, still stuck in a glass tank, "you're still....?"

Sam looked embarrassed.

"No, I," he huffed again, but Dean noticed he wasn't shaking anymore, "it's fine, I can handle it, just," he paused, and looked up at Dean again, and it was really something how Sam could manage to look all of eight years old sometimes, "just not alone like that. Just....ok?"

Dean heard the sentence that came in between those last two words, even if they were only in Sam's head. _Don't leave me alone again._

Like someone had flipped a switch, the hotcold feeling Dean had carried in the center of him since Lake Manitoc was gone. The horrible bitterness he couldn't focus or manage to get away from, it was suddenly just replaced with that other one, the your-brother-needs-you part, and _damn this feels mushy_ and _aw crap I kinda like it. Son of a bitch._

"Ok," Dean said roughly, clapping Sam's shoulder again. They hurried to get back into the hotel, back to the job.

They had work to do.

Plus, Sam needed a towel. And a new cast.

The End


End file.
